Strawberry Shortcake

Yikes!

I find this overhaul of Strawberry Shortcake’s image, courtesy of her owner American Greetings Properties, to be mildly disturbing. Gone is the cute, yarny-headed ragamuffin of my childhood. Now, after the help of Japanese hair-straightening techniques, colored contacts, lip injections, and a diet that presumably consists of eating nothing but berries, S.S. looks kinda like- every other popular doll on the market. Oh, and the cat kind of just disappeared and has been replaced with a cell phone. Sigh.
They’ve also gone all United Colors of Benetton-y with the rest of the gang, though one might conclude based on the dolls’ characters that whoever’s in charge of the branding may not have the strongest grasp of the concept of multiculturalism beyond “the white one, the black one, the oriental one, etc.” line of thinking. The gang- whose names read like one big Viennese dessert table- includes, for one, an African-American friend named “Sweet Potato Pie”! No, it’s actually “Orange Blossom”, but there is a buddy for S.S. whose name is “Tea Blossom” who “comes from the land of spiced teas and the Great Wall of Chocolate” (really?) and who of course, hosts the “berry best” tea parties. Because she’s Chinese.
Further proof that product development has its HQ in some flyover state is manifested in the doll named “Angel Food Cake”, who is blonde of course, which makes sense because everyone knows that blondes are the closest things to angels! You know, like how Jesus was blonde!
I thought to myself, what’s next? Defined abs for the Care Bears? Well actually, you betcha. AGP is in fact planning on slimming down the little monsters. Sheesh! Completely missing the whole purpose of teddy bears here: 1) The inspiration for teddy bears in the first place came from Teddy Roosevelt, who was fat. 2) Teddy bears are for cuddling. No one wants to cuddle a slender something, as fuzzy wuzzy as it may be. The best way I can put this is- though a skinny hipster boy looks good in his skinny jeans, that’s all I want to do- look. I don’t want to snuggle up to his ribcage. That’s what my pudgy, pot-bellied teddy bear is for.

[NYT]

 

SpinTalk!

So Daryl tells me he’s walking around the slippery Slope and there’s this couple bickering on the street walking near him. And then the woman- let’s call her June- audibly states “Well, Ward, I’m not the one who committed ADULTERY”. Gasp!

And of course Ward is immediately flustered at her making no bones about a passive-aggressive jab of being loud enough for the people around her to hear, and swiftly goes into a stumbly-bumbly bit along the lines of “you know we don’t really need to discuss this right now it’s not appropriate grumble grumble etc.” Meaning, he’s not terribly keen on such things as village stocks or red letter “A’s” all that much so Hush, Woman.

Which of course got us thinking about what other retaliatory statements Ward may have used in this situation had he been more composed and um- sociopathic. I like to call it Spintalk, meaning, a way to spin on to the innocent party in an attempt to make them look like they’re being completely unreasonable, or even bonkers. Instead of, you know, just expressing remorse. By the time we got to the end of our laundry list of weasel-responses, we were ROFL. ROFL because- well- people actually do use these. Here’s a few of the winners:

“Hey. ReLAX. You’re getting all EMOTIONAL.”

“I am not discussing this until YOU CALM DOWN.”

(Daryl does this one so well it’s scary, complete with the requisite turning-back-on-opponent with dismissive hand-wave at the end): “You’re being IRRATIONAL.”

“You need to stop living in the past. Can’t you just MOVE ON?”

“Do we really have to discuss it? This is NOT enjoyable.”

“You’re making a HUGE DEAL out of this.”

And our personal favorite of the night, one of Daryl’s contributions, which again only he can do justice to, as he shakes his head in “disbelief” and dramatically points to himself to give a little added flair:

“Oh now I’M the bad guy. I’M the asshole, right? I’M THE ASSHOLE?!”

To which we respond, “Well, Ward, actually…….yeah. You kind of are……”

 

Disclaimer!

Ok, I want to preface my next post by saying that I genuinely do miss the newsy format this blog used to be more oriented towards, but the fact of the matter is, newsy is hard! Not because it’s hard to find things, but because it’s time-consuming to post all the links, the photos, etc. etc. I mean, there are people who do that full-time. For a little side thing, it’s tough to keep your newsy/memesy content current. And when you’re working another job, and in class, and have other side projects going on….So yes, this has become the home of the “cupid chronicles”, as I feel it’s a more focused thread. I’m sure the C.C. is the type of thing some of you more staid types probably hate, and even for those who love it may be misleading, prompting readers into making some quick judgments. So let me just say this: the C.C. is not deep. It is not a “vent” or a “rant”. It’s a fun, funny story. That’s all it is. It’s supposed to be an entertaining light read and something to chuckle along with. I mean, it’s about Cupid for god’s sake. So, lighten up. And be nice to me because it’s totally all true and totally did really happen.

Now. I wrote the aforementioned preface because my next post is again relationshipy and I swear I’m not trying to make this into some sort of relationshipy dating blog- the conversation is just too funny to not pass on! Funny, funny things that are completely off this topic will happen soon, I promise. The life I lead is too interesting for that not to happen.

Anyway. Onward.

The Cupid Chronicles IV: No. Way.

Because when I see what I do….I cannot believe my eyes. 

No. F’ing. WAY.

No way.

No.

Way.

Why. Am I. Seeing this?

Maybe it’s because when a dreamboat catches your attention, the normal thing to do is to look right back, and keep looking. Or, if to be coy, you look away, you’re not really seeing what’s in front of you, because your mind is really on the object of your desire. Or maybe because in looking away, you look at normal places to look, like your neighbor or your plate. Not like me. Not like me who is looking at all the most ridiculous places that make no sense to look at, nor are they convenient in their location to steal a new glance. Like, say, the bushes. Which are behind me.

Or maybe it’s because I’d been actively looking and subconsciously, still was….

I look at Brooklahoma. I look towards the bushes. I look at Brook. Surely, he sees.

He does not see. He’s just looking at me. Amused. Thinks I’m playing some cute game with him. Which, yes, I’m often inclined to do. Funny, sexy little Marleah, right? With the adorable apple cheeks and mischievous grin, it’s to be expected. This is what he thinks is happening. He doesn’t get it.  I can tell, because his confident man-on-a-mission mode (albeit well-tempered with middle-american innocent charm, serving to moderate the “wolf” factor) was still firmly intact, quite apparent by the playful twinkle in his eyes….

He does not see what I see.

But I’m not crazy. I’m not on anything. And I don’t go around seeing things that aren’t there. That’s how I know it’s there, because I see it. I close my eyes. I open them. Still there. I clearly see, right over there-

The Cupid Chronicles III: Alarm

And then, just as I’m about to flash a trademark cute smile…..

ALARMS. 

BELLS.

RED!

FLAG! 

WARNING!!!!!!!!!!

WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

INTRUDER!!!INTRUDER!!!INTRUDER!!!

GASP.

W.

T.

F.

???????????

It nearly knocks the wind out of me. And me out of my chair.

If he hadn’t checked his phone in that brief moment, he might be running over right now to start CPR…

Somehow (miraculously) I regain my bearings. But I can still hear The Alarm….

WARNING. WARNING.

M’F'ING WARNING, WOMAN.

INTRUDER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am- bewildered. WHAT THE F’ING HELL…was that “Synergy”? Are they playing old Jem episodes at the bar, in true nostalgia-for-the-unremembered-80’s style, as the under-25 set are inclined to do?

I can see the TV in the bar from outside. I check. They are not showing old episodes of Jem. They are showing baseball.

And I then realize. The clamor, is in my head.

What in God’s name is going on here?

Mr. Brooklahoma is staring again, and I look back, I have a flirtatious nature, so of course I’d-

This time, it’s even worse.

The alarms are screaming so loud it makes my head pound Synergy won’t shut the F UP and now to boot I’m treated to visions of the past-however-many-boys who were tall, handsome, creative- just like this one- who ran the gamut from casually tossing my heart on the floor to outright pounding it until it smashed into pieces- and then stepping on it a few more times because it was kind of in the way of where they had to walk. Who all started out with that exact same “Hey girl lookin’ fine over there” look I’m getting RIGHT NOW.

And So What. So what if- that’s the past…it doesn’t mean- 

The sirens just get persistently screechier and louder. The warning signs more and more vivid. And it’s downright terrifying. I don’t want the reminders. I don’t need the reminders- What’s the point?!!

I look down. I don’t know what this is.

It’s nothing it’s nothing it’s nothing. It’s nothing….

I can’t let him see the panic in my eyes.

I am bewildered. One innocent glance pressed my- Panic Button? Hold UP, wait a minute-

 I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW I HAD A PANIC BUTTON!

At least not outside normal circumstances like encountering burglars or teeth-baring pitbulls….Since when was THIS?

HEY! “Since when was TH-”

“You know exactly since when”, a little voice answers. (And now I’m having a conversation with- ????) “You learned. Finally. Right? You don’t really want to go through it again, right? Do you?”

“Do you?”

Um….I-

“No. You don’t.”

………………………….

“Run.”

Yep, that’s what it said. Run.

As in Run before the next one. As in Run from inevitable disaster. As in Run before another one relentlessly hounds you until you’re securely in his clutches and once you are, he-

I don’t want to hear anymore. I don’t know who’s taking charge here. I can’t help but think that with the squabbling Greek chorus in Herman’s Head there was at least a relative balance of power. In my head Wimp was running the show now and all the others were out to lunch or-

I guess I just look nervous and not batshit crazy because when I glance up Brooklahoma smiles at me now and oh he is soooo cute when he sm-

DANGER. DANGER.

FLEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh. My. F’ing. GOD.

I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.

Tearing my eyes away the panic does not subside much.

Ok. 

Do not Run.

Be cool.

(after all, the whole world doesn’t need to know I’ve lost it, right?)        ;)

Keep looking away. Look anywhere.

Fuck! Where’s my book. Where’s my phone. I could pretend to be reading something….

I try to look back again because that’s what I’m inclined to do but I can’t because when I try it triggers the panic that’s so alien to me and I think I’m going to keel over and I make a mental note to reassess my damage later because I knew I’d been through the ringer but goddamn this is WACK- sure I’ve become more cautious in the past year or so but I’ve never turned away a shot to seal a new deal…

No. No. No way. And my mind flashes over to the last few months and I am cursing-

He’s looking. I can’t look. I don’t know where to look.  I am looking at the sky. I am looking at the table. I am looking everywhere no red-blooded american female would be looking when a gorgeous redhead with perfect teeth who can somehow make a gingham shirt look sexy is totally checking her out.

I am looking at the Tree. Hello, ten-times-less-interesting-than-the-boy-over-there Tree. I am looking at my Hands. Hello, Hands. Kinda shaky tonight? Now I am looking at the Hedgerow, and who the hell lost their ki-

RRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH.

…………………………………………………..

That’s what a double take sounds like. It happens to sound alot like a needle scratching a record.

Because when I see what I do…I cannot believe my eyes.